


Lost in the Supermarket

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets a job--and a lot more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in the Supermarket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOneWhoDoesntHaveALife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneWhoDoesntHaveALife/gifts).



> There aren't enough grocery store aus and by that I mean, I've never seen one. I hope, dear recipient, you enjoy this! 
> 
> And a big thanks to my [lovely beta](http://goldfishtobleroneandamitie.tumblr.com).

Enjolras doesn’t take the job because he likes it—he really, _really_ doesn’t. The customers are horrible and rude, he’s surrounded by a variety of overwhelming smells, and he looks truly awful in the hat that comes with the uniform. He takes the job because he doesn’t have any other choice. There are hardly any places hiring at the moment with jobs that’s he qualified for with no previous work experience—and even fewer with hours flexible enough to fit into his schedule. So he takes it—the job in the deli of a cheap chain grocery store.

It’s the store that Courfeyrac works at, and though he works on the front end, it’s still nice to start off knowing _someone._ Besides, Courfeyrac knows—and is friends with—just about everyone, so Enjolras isn’t lonely at work for long.

Courfeyrac introduces him first to Combeferre, one of the customer service leads on the front end, and they hit it off immediately. Then comes Jehan and Eponine who work at the customer service desk, Marius from the floral department,  Bahorel back behind the meat counter (brandishing a very large knife with a grin), and Feuilly in non-perishables. They’re all lovely (even Marius, who’s always covered in enough pollen to send Enjolras into a sneezing fit if he gets too close). Most of all, they seem willing to accept Enjolras into their little group; they sit with him on breaks and chat and slowly turn into proper friends.

Enjolras meets Musichetta on his own, as she’s the manager of his department. He finds her exceptional—funny, smart, and patient even as he screws up on basic tasks that he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of yet.  

Musichetta introduces him to Joly and Bossuet.

“My idiot boyfriends,” she supplies with a heavy sigh and wry smile when Enjolras catches them waving and blowing kisses to Musichetta from their place in the produce department. He learns to like them very quickly, even if they take to distracting him from his duties with their antics. (How _they_ get any work done when it seems like they’re constantly juggling lemons or building the Eiffel Tower out of asparagus or just giggling like schoolboys in the back, Enjolras will never know.)

And then there’s Grantaire.

Grantaire works mainly on the opposite side of the store, far away in the dairy/frozen section, so it takes weeks before they meet.

It’s a night when Grantaire is working in produce. He saunters up to the counter with a grin, straight up to Enjolras.

“This your newbie, Chetta?” His voice is low and rich and under any other circumstances, Enjolras thinks he would appreciate it—but not when he’s being spoken over.

Instead, he scowls. “I can speak for myself.”

“ _Boys_ ,” Musichetta clucks from behind him. “Play nice or I’ll separate the two of you.”

Grantaire snorts. “Yes, Ma’am.” He looks over Enjolras with a curiosity. “I’m Grantaire.”

“I know,” Enjolras supplies. “You have a nametag.”

“Yes, but the polite thing is—“ Grantaire trails off with a rueful shake of his head and a wry smile. “Fine, _Enjolras_. I suppose it’s nice to meet you, even if you won’t introduce yourself.”

Enjolras purses his lips, remaining silent for a moment before he gives in. “You too.”

Grantaire grins, lopsided and bright. “Wow, look at that—you _do_ know how to be polite!”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Chetta warns.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “So, Enjolras, what do you study?”

“How do you know I’m a student?”

Grantaire shrugs. “You look like one,” he pauses, lips quirked in a smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” Enjolras grumbles, holding back a smile of his own. “I’m a political science major.”

“Oh.”

Grantaire’s tone leaves Enjolras frowning. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not inherently, no,” Grantaire provides. “But… well, I’m not sure how to put this delicately. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

There’s a hint of a smug smile on Grantaire’s features. “Go right ahead,” Enjolras insists, crossing him arms defensively.

“You’re sure?”

“Be as harsh as you want; I’m hardly delicate.”

Grantaire looks amused, but nods. “Well, frankly, studying government is a waste of time.”

Enjolras stares at him in disbelief. “A _waste of time_?”

“Well, it’s not like anything’s going to change.” He says it so nonchalantly—so assuredly—that Enjolras has to stop and stare again.

“Are you always so cynical?” Enjolras snaps. “Change is happening—we’re continually making progress, and knowledge of the system is the first step.”

Grantaire quirks an eyebrow. “Are you always so naïve?”

Enjolras scowls and he feels his cheeks flush with rising anger. “I’m _not_ naïve.”

“ _Boys_ ,” Musichetta interrupts as the tone of Enjolras’ voice takes on a dangerous quality.

At the interjection, Enjolras’ mouth snaps shut and he scowls more fiercely. He can feel Musichetta staring at him and he knows what she wants, so he sighs and gives in. “Are you a student?” he grumbles out, arms crossed. It’s not as nice as Musichetta wants him to be, surely,--neither the tone or question itself—but it’s the best he can do.

“Sometimes,” Grantaire answers. He’s still calm and smiling—and it makes Enjolras seethe a little more to see him so unaffected by the conversation.

He eyes Grantaire curiously. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Grantaire shrugs. “Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not.”

“But—“ Enjolras cuts off with a shake of his head. (Grantaire’s smirking now and it’s infuriating.) “Whatever. If you want to be mysterious, be my guest.”

Grantaire’s smirk widens. “Thanks for your permission.”

“What do you study?” Enjolras blurts out before he can restrain himself. “When you _are_ a student.” He knows he’s going to dislike the answer as soon as Grantaire shrugs and smiles.

“Oh, just this and that.”

Enjolras frowns, perhaps a little petulantly. “Can’t you answer _anything_ definitively?”

“I’m not sure.” Grantaire’s cheeky grin is enough to make Enjolras roll his eyes.

“Did you actually want anything?” he questions sharply. “Or did you only come over to waste my time?” When the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re a little harsh, but he’s frustrated and more than a little confused as to what Grantaire’s purpose actually _is_. He can’t help it, but he does feel bad when Grantaire recoils.

“I’ll stop then,” Grantaire answers shortly. “Nice meeting you.”

And then he’s turned away and Enjolras isn’t sure what he’s meant to do—call him back? Apologize? Ignore him?—so he goes back to work instead.

Musichetta moves around him, serving customers and looking thoroughly disappointed. 

“It’s not my fault,” he insists, after a particularly disapproving look. “He was obnoxious and distracting and—“

“And you were rude,” Musichetta supplies. “Look, you can do whatever you’d like, but I’m not going to pat you on the back for being an ass to one of my friends.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asks, feeling guilty and small in a way he hasn’t since he was a child and his parents still had a grip over him.

She looks at him, if possible, with more disappointment than before. “I don’t want you to do anything for my sake. If you’re going to do anything at all, it had better be for R’s sake.”

Enjolras nods jerkily and puts the topic aside—for now.

**

Enjolras doesn’t apologize. He means to—he honestly thinks that Grantaire deserves an apology for his rude and dismissing behavior, even if Grantaire _had_ been pushing him into it—but he ends up distracted. By Grantaire.

During almost every shift for the next two weeks , Enjolras finds his breaks lining up with Grantaire’s. At first, it seems like a good thing. The first time Grantaire sits across from him at a shitty table in the break room, Enjolras sees it as his chance to make amends. But then Grantaire’s talking at him and Enjolras starts talking back and they’re having a real conversation and then a real argument. It all spirals out so fast that Enjolras isn’t sure what’s happening until he’s storming out of the break room. 

Every following shared break goes much the same—sometimes with less arguing, sometimes with more, but always ending with Enjolras upset with Grantaire and unable to apologize. It’s a shame, really, considering there comes to be more and more he _should_ apologize for. It turns out he really can’t restrain himself around Grantaire.

So he complains to Courfeyrac.

“One second he’s discussing Greek philosophy or reciting in Latin and the next he’s refuting every one of my beliefs,” Enjolras bemoans, curled up on Courfeyrac’s sofa with his chin resting on his knees. “It’s frustrating.”

Courfeyrac pats his shoulder, but it feels mocking. “There, there. You’ll get past it.”

Combeferre’s with them too, sitting on the chair to Enjolras’ left. “Maybe you should be more careful about what _you_ say to him.”

“How do I do that?”

“By thinking before you speak?” Combeferre looks amused.

Enjolras is less so. “I _do_ , but—“

“But nothing,” Courfeyrac chides. “He’s coming over soon and you’re going to have a friendly conversation without all the screaming, got it?”

“It’s not all me, though,” he argues childishly, halting when the rest of Courfeyrac’s sentence sinks in. “Wait, coming over soon? Grantaire?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac shares a grin with Combeferre. “Everyone’s coming over. For movies and pizza, remember?”

“Oh,” Enjolras blinks. “I thought it was just us, Marius, and Jehan.”

“Marius invited the others, and it’s his place too. So,” Courfeyrac shrugs. “Problem?”

Enjolras shakes his head, though he suddenly feels underdressed. When Courfeyrac invited him to a movie night and said to dress comfortably, he’d settled on wearing pajamas, more or less. But the idea of the others—of _Grantaire_ —seeing him in red plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt makes him squirm. Grantaire has never even seen him in anything other than his work uniform, and now he’d see him looking like a mess. What a great impression to make.

“Are you sure?” Courfeyrac’s grinning again, like he knows something.

“No,” Enjolras insists, even as he tries to subtly get his hair to behave and stop being _everywhere_ and _knotted_.

“If you say so,” Courfeyrac hums smugly.

By the time Grantaire arrives with Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet in tow, all the others had already settled in the living room (and Enjolras is pleased to find most of them wearing outfits quite like his).

“Finally!” Eponine calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you lot to start the movie.”

“What took so long?” Bahorel adds as he nudges Marius to put a DVD in.

“Traffic was a nightmare,” Musichetta offers as she leads her boys to a space on the floor.

This leaves Grantaire the option to sit next to Enjolras or sit practically on top of one of the others. Either way, Enjolras feels like he’s going to lose.

Grantaire chooses the space on the couch beside Enjolras, though Enjolras can’t help but notice how he sits much closer to Courfeyrac.

“Hello,” Enjolras tries, remembering Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s advice—even if it was so very limited.

Grantaire quirks an eyebrow. “Hey.” He’s not wearing pajamas; instead he has on skinny jeans and a t-shirt that Enjolras finds too tight. “Nice sweatshirt. Wouldn’t have pegged you as a Captain America fan, but I guess I should have.”

Enjolras shrugs and hopes his cheeks aren’t going pink. “Comic books are a fascinating medium.”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ that.”

Grantaire’s smiling, so Enjolras smiles back—and it feels nice. Maybe they _can_ avoid arguing.

“What do you read?” Grantaire asks after a moment.

“Well, I haven’t picked anything up in a long time,” he admits.  “So, nothing at the moment.”

Grantaire hums. “I could lend you some if you’d like,” he offers, sounding unsure. “I mean, I’m sure I know what you like.”

“And what would that be?”

“Optimistic narratives about the inherent good of humanity,” Grantaire grins.

Enjolras can’t help smiling back, if a little grudgingly. “That’d be nice, though. You, uh, lending me comics.”

“I’ll bring some to work on Tuesday, then. Give them to you there.”

The movie starts as the last preview fades away, but Enjolras ignores it. “Thank you. I’ll—“ he pauses as realization sinks in. “How do you know I work Tuesday?”

Grantaire freezes. “Oh—that sounded weird, didn’t it?” Enjolras swears he’s blushing and it’s a good look on him. “Chetta mentioned it. She was bitching about scheduling and—I swear I’m not a stalker or anything.”

Enjolras laughs. “Okay. Against my better judgment, I’ll trust you.”

“Now that’s a bad idea if I’ve ever heard one.” Grantaire whistles. “Trusting me.”

Part of Enjolras wants to argue that Grantaire is trustworthy—that they’re in a room _full_ of people who trust Grantaire—but he restrains himself. It will only lead to an argument—and maybe this is what Combeferre meant by thinking before he speaks. Though Enjolras thinks that Grantaire is going easy on him; that he’s intentionally not baiting Enjolras tonight.

“We should pay attention to the movie,” Enjolras murmurs instead. “Courfeyrac will quiz us at the end if he thinks we didn’t watch.”

Grantaire chuckles, soft and warm, but turns his attention to the screen.

Enjolras does the same.

***

Tuesday comes and Enjolras finds himself spending his break with Grantaire in Grantaire’s beat-up car. It’s littered with wrappers and only _just_ sputters to life when Grantaire turns the key in the ignition to get the heat going, but it’s kind of nice. It smells like Grantaire (and Grantaire smells nice—like smoke and wood and cinnamon).

“So here’s Captain Marvel—you’ll like her,” Grantaire explains as he holds up a paper bag filled with comics in individual protective sleeves. “She’s badass. And y’know, with your hair and everything,” he gestures vaguely at Enjolras. “You’d do a damn good cosplay of her. Think about it.”

Enjolras snorts, but he’s smiling.

“Hawkeye is a must read for Marvel, too,” Grantaire insists, pushing another bag at Enjolras. “Aja’s art is insane and I figure you love the ‘heroes that don’t have powers’ thing. And there’s a dog that likes pizza.”

“Great?” Enjolras fails to see what’s amazing about that, but the way Grantaire talks about it excites him.

“ _Yes_ , great. How many pizza dogs do you read about elsewhere? None.” Grantaire stares at him, as if daring him to disagree. “Anyways, I’ve brought the first book of Sandman too because everyone’s read it and it’s _obscene_ that you haven’t.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras smiles softly as Grantaire hands over the last of it. “I mean, I was expecting a couple comics—not this much.”

Grantaire shrugs, bashful. “What can I say, I like making people read.” He looks down at his hands, then back at Enjolras. “Honestly, I have so many more books I wanted to lend you,” he adds with a laugh. “I’m a big fan of graphic novels, and I bet you’d love _Persepolis_ and _Maus_ and _Blankets_.”

“I’d love to read them all,” Enjolras insists. “I mean, you’ll have to lend them to me now that you’ve mentioned them.”

“Okay.” Grantaire’s smile is wide and shy, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“And I’ll find something to lend you too,” Enjolras adds.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras starts playing with his hair. It’s a nervous habit, though he doesn’t know what he’s nervous about. “Every Tuesday we’ll do an exchange, maybe?”

“Awesome.”

For a moment everything feels perfect. They’re not arguing—not even remotely—and it’s… well. It’s nice. Enjolras wants to stay in this moment, locked away in Grantaire’s car. They can’t, of course. When their break ends, they have to trudge back inside to their separate departments and separate lives. 

**

From then on, most of Enjolras’ breaks are spent willingly with Grantaire. Sometimes they talk about the books that they’re lending each other—and sometimes without arguing. Other times, they argue over politics and Enjolras’ ideas for reform, but now with less malice and yelling. And on some occasions, they even spend the time talking about their personal lives.

For all the parts that clash, Enjolras finds they fit together well. They have a lot of the same interests—at least intellectually (Enjolras can’t even imagine fencing or boxing or doing gymnastics, let alone art). He’s still obnoxious and brash and _wrong_ so often, but they’re friends and Enjolras likes that.

Enjolras likes him.

And that’s where everything goes wrong.

Grantaire’s working in the produce department again tonight, and he keeps pulling faces or juggling fruits to get Enjolras’ attention. It works, of course, and Enjolras finds himself continually watching Grantaire and laughing or rolling his eyes or, very occasionally, making faces back at him.

Musichetta smirks every time she notices and, after the fifth time, Enjolras finally sighs and why.

“Oh no reason,” she dismisses. “You’re just adorable, the two of you.”

“Adorable?”

“Yes, like little puppies,” she pinches Enjolras’ cheek. “When are you going to ask him out?”

Enjolras freezes. “What?”

Musichetta hesitates. “I just thought… you gush about him all the time, I assumed you wanted to date him.” She eyes Enjolras. “Do you _not_ want to?”

“I don’t gush about him,” Enjolras protests. “And I, um. I don’t… I never thought about it. We’re just friends.”

“ _Please_. All you ever talk about is the book he lent you or the way his hair looks nice in the stupid hats he wears,” she points out. “For God’s sake, you spent _half an hour_ the other day complaining about how good he smells.”

“That’s a very real problem,” Enjolras argues weakly.

“Have you honestly never thought about dating him?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “He’s infuriating. We argue all the time and can’t agree on anything—certainly nothing important. And he enjoys making me mad. How could we ever work as a couple?”

“Love is a funny thing,” Musichetta tells him sagely. “Look at who I’m dating.”

Enjolras glances to the produce section where Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire are playing catch with a lime.

Grantaire catches him staring and smiles, only to get hit in the head with the lime.

“Fuck,” Enjolras moans as his heart flutters. If he finds _that_ cute, he’s a goner for sure. “I love him, don’t I?”

“I don’t know how you ignored it for so long, honestly,” Musichetta pats his back.

Enjolras doesn’t either. It’s been there all along, he realizes now. Even before they had become proper friends, he’d hardly ever stopped thinking about him—and he certainly knows he’s found him physically attractive since day one.  

“What do I do now?”

Musichetta smiles kindly. “That’s up to you, honey.”

“Well, I don’t—“ he cuts off as he notices Grantaire and the others approaching.

“Hey, we heard—“ Grantaire stares at him with a puzzled expression. “Are you alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras squeaks, trying to look normal and not like he’s just realized he wants nothing more than to do sickening couple stuff with Grantaire. “Fine.” He knows his face must be turning red, but Grantaire only frowns.

“Okay. Well, we heard the managers have all left and it’s dead in the store, so we’re going to do some cart races,” he grins. “You guys in?”

“Someone has to stay over here,” Musichetta says. “But take Enjolras. He could use a little fun.”

She’s smiling innocently, but Enjolras _knows_ what she’s doing.

Still, he finds himself saying yes the second Grantaire looks at him.

Once Joly and Bossuet have finished trying their best to get Musichetta to come along anyway, the four of them head over aisle 8 where Feuilly, Bahorel, and Eponine are already gathered with three carts.

“Three teams and one judge—perfect,” Bahorel nods as they approach. “What are the first sets of teams?”

Joly and Bossuet pair off with a look and Bahorel and Feuilly follow suit. Enjolras glances a little hopefully to Grantaire.

“Look, Enjolras has never played,” Grantaire tells Eponine apologetically. “We’ll team up next round, okay?”

“Fine,” Eponine rolls her eyes, but she gives Grantaire a friendly punch.

“Partners, then?” Grantaire offers, turned to Enjolras with a grin.

“Of course,” Enjolras smiles back. “How does this work?”

Grantaire leads him to the cart. “It’s easy. One of us gets in the cart, the other pushes, and we race through whatever ‘course’ we decide on. Sometimes we have to grab certain items, too, but I don’t think we’re doing that tonight.”

“That’s it?” Enjolras muses. “It sounds, uh…”

“Stupid?” Grantaire laughs. “It’s surprisingly fun.”

“Okay,” Enjolras tries to ignore the way his stomach twists when Grantaire laughs; it was so much easier _before_ Musichetta pointed all this out.

He stands awkwardly, waiting for Grantaire’s direction.

“I’ll push, okay?” Grantaire offers.

“Sure.” But Enjolras stays stationary, even as Grantaire glances at him. “I, uh, don’t really know what to do.”

“It’s simple,” Grantaire’s smile is kind, and his eyes are warm and _so_ blue and— _Jesus Christ_. “Just sit in the cart—I do the rest.”

“I’ll look silly,” Enjolras protests.

“We’re _all_ going to look silly,” he laughs airily. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

“Okay.”

Enjolras climbs in, nearly falling over, and sits with his knees up.

“You ready?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras turns to look up at him.

“Whenever you are."

Eponine calls their attention and the three teams line up; she counts down and then it beginnings. Feuilly and Bahorel push straight to the front.

“Faster, faster!” Enjolras urges as they reach the end of the aisle and round the turn to move into the next. “They’re pulling ahead!”

“If you want to push, be my guest!” Grantaire huffs back, but his speed seems to increase.

“Take a shortcut,” Enjolras calls back. “Go down aisle five!”

“That’s not a shortcut,” Grantaire argues, just as they near the end of the stretch horizontal to the aisles. Bahorel and Feuilly have turned down aisle three, like they’re supposed to.

“Just do it!”

Grantaire obeys, turning two aisles early and coasting down. When they reach the end and turn left, Bahorel and Feuilly have yet to turn out of their aisle. Grantaire pushes past before they can.

“See?” Enjolras grins, pulsing with adrenaline. He shifts in the cart. “Just around the deli, now!”

“We’re in first!” Grantaire laughs, rounding the deli with a dangerously angled turn. Then it’s just a right turn and they’re back in aisle eight for a straight shoot down to where Eponine’s standing.

Grantaire lets out a cheerful cry as they finish first. “I can’t believe we did it!” He’s laughing joyfully and Enjolras can’t help but join in.

“ _You_ did, really,” Enjolras points out as he climbs out of the cart.

“ _We_ did it,” Grantaire insists; his arms move around Enjolras and he spins him around in a celebratory hug, laughing all the while. “Victory!”

Enjolras flushes a little as he’s set down and pretends it’s dizziness. “I guess we make a good team.”

“A good team of cheaters,” Bahorel grumbles good-naturedly.

“There was nothing against it,” Enjolras insists.

Grantaire’s arm slings around his shoulder. “You’re just mad we beat you.”

“We’ll see how you do in a rematch later,” Bossuet chimes in. “We’ll have you both!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire smiles wryly. “Okay, what are the teams for race two?”

Enjolras ends up the judge for the next round, then ends up in several different pairings before the races fade into all of them trying to do stupid stunts. They never get a rematch, but Enjolras doesn’t care; he’s happy to watch Grantaire do handstands and backflips, calling out an “Enjolras, look!” before any stunt he attempts. He can’t help smiling every time.

“Have fun?” Grantaire asks as he finishes and sits beside Enjolras on the floor.  

Enjolras grins. “Yeah. Much better than working. Although, I’m sure Musichetta saved the garbage for me to take back.”

“She’d have made you take it back no matter what,” Grantaire laughs. “She _hates_ to.”

Grantaire’s looking right at him, smiling, and Enjolras leans in slightly before he can think—not much, but enough that it’s noticeable.

In an instant, Grantaire has pulled back and stood up. “Well, I have to—you know, finish work. Stuff to do,” he babbles, walking away before Enjolras can say anything.

Not that he knows what he should say. Because apparently he’s an idiot and his little crush is unrequited.

***

A week goes by before Enjolras reaches the point where he thinks he’ll explode if he doesn’t talk about it. He heads to Courfeyrac’s apartment to reassess with him and Combeferre.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits over hot chocolate. “Now that I started, I can’t stop thinking about him in a romantic way.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Courfeyrac  soothes.

“I leaned in to kiss him and he pulled away,” Enjolras groans. “It’s a bad thing.”

Courfeyrac gives him a soft, pitying look that Enjolras doesn’t exactly appreciate.

“I’m sure he was just surprised.” Combeferre assures.

Enjolras scoffs, twisting his hair around a finger and staring down at his hot chocolate. “More like disgusted.”

“Enj—“

“I shouldn’t even care,” he interrupts before Courfeyrac can speak. “I’ve never cared for romantic relationships before—I shouldn’t now.”

“But you care for him.” Combeferre points out.

Enjolras lets out a noise of distress, tugging at his hair. “I wish I didn’t.”

“You don’t mean that.” Courfeyrac looks smug.

Enjolras sighs. “I want to mean it,” he mumbles. “What do I do now?”

“Be honest with Grantaire,” Combeferre answers simply. “Tell him how you feel and work from there.”

Enjolras stares at him openly, fairly certain Combeferre’s gone mad. “He doesn’t like me—he pulled away and has acted like it never happened! Trying to push it again will only make things _worse_.”

“He likes you.” Courfeyrac chimes in.

“Not in the same way,” Enjolras protests.

“Look,” Combeferre’s voice sends calming waves through Enjolras and he loses some of his tenseness. “I think speaking to him is your best course of action. Don’t you think it’s possible he feels the same and could be just as freaked out as you are?”

Enjolras considers this. He wants Combeferre to be right, of course, but if he’s wrong, everything will be made about ten times worse. The almost-kiss they can ignore, but a discussion of _feelings_ would leave uncomfortableness between them that would surely ruin their friendship.

“I can’t,” he decides stubbornly. “Not until I have a sign that I might have a chance with him.”

“Alright,” Courfeyrac nods. “And then you’ll talk to him about it?”

“ _If_ I get a sign,” Enjolras clarifies. “Yes, I’ll talk to him about it.” He bites at his lower lip thinking about it. “Combeferre? Courfeyrac?”

“Hmm?” Courfeyrac hums as they both turn their attention back to Enjolras.

“Can we work out what I’ll say to him— _if_ I have to?” he asks, a little flustered.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both grin and share a look, but neither laugh (for which Enjolras is grateful). “Of course.”

**

Saturday afternoon, Enjolras is mid-meltdown when Grantaire steps behind the deli counter and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Enjolras breathes, scrubbing at his forehead and shaking his head no. “Not particularly.” His voice sounds small and he doesn’t like it.

“What’s—“ Grantaire pauses as he takes in the noise around them. There’s a line of six or so customers, all being exceptionally loud and annoying. “Is that—“

Enjolras nods.

“Okay, I’ve got this. Just—stay here. Breathe,” he tells Enjolras soothingly, then moves to serve the waiting customers.

Enjolras watches helplessly as Grantaire does his job for him—and flawlessly. He wipes the tears from his eyes and breathes, feeling grateful and overwhelmed.

When Grantaire finishes, he’s at Enjolras’ side again, looking concerned. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he swallows heavily. “I just—Kathy, the girl who’s supposed to be working with me today, called in and now I’m alone all day and I haven’t been able to go on break—I don’t know if I even _can_ , there’s no one else here. And then the one slicer broke,” he gestures to it wildly. “And the customers were yelling at me. And I was already having a bad day. My parents—“ he cuts off, his voice trembling in a way that annoys him. He can’t even _sound_ strong. “It’s all stupid. I should be able to handle it, but—“

“No,” Grantaire interrupts him firmly, a hand on each of Enjolras’ shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with not being able to handle everything. That’s what I’m here for.”

Enjolras softens. Part of him wants to lean into Grantaire, to bury his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck and breathe him in and hold him tight until he feels grounded again.

“I’ll stay with you the rest of the day, okay?” Grantaire decides. “I can help out.”

Enjolras’ eyes widen. “I—but—don’t you have your own work to do?”

Grantaire shrugs. “They’ll be fine without me over there. You need me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but Grantaire seems to anticipate it and speaks first. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re stuck with me.”

Enjolras’ laugh sounds a little watery to his own ears. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

There’s a lull in business from there on, but Grantaire stays true to his word and doesn’t leave. Even when he’s finished with his own shift and Enjolras still has an hour left, Grantaire merely punches out and spends the remaining hour loitering around behind the deli counter to keep him company with bad jokes and crazy stories.

Enjolras appreciates that more than anything. It makes him feel human again.

When they’re leaving, slowly walking out into the parking lot, Grantaire grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Look, I was going to ask you anyway, so don’t think this is me taking pity on you for today,” Grantaire says with a teasing smile. “But there’s going to be an opening in the scan department and I thought you might like the job?”

“What?” Enjolras’ forehead wrinkles with confusion.

“Carrie’s leaving and they’re looking for someone new and, well, I know the manager in scan and if I tell her to take you, she will,” Grantaire explains. “It’s not exciting, but I know you hate working in the deli and at least in scan you don’t really have to deal with customers.”

“That’s—wow, that’s amazing,” Enjolras marvels. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Awesome,” Grantaire smile. “I’ll let her know tomorrow.”

They stand silent for a moment. “Uh, well,” Grantaire shifts. “I’d better get going. See you soon, I guess?”

“Yeah, see you.” Enjolras echoes, watching as Grantaire turns away. He’s filled with a warmth and the conversation with Combeferre plays in his head. This is a sign—this whole _day_ ’s been a sign. “Grantaire, wait!” he calls out.

Grantaire turns around instantly, confusion written on his face. “Something wrong?”

Enjolras freezes up suddenly. “No, uh—“ This isn’t a good time. Not in the middle of the parking lot at night, right after Enjolras has cried in front of him. “I just wanted to say thanks again. For everything.”

“Anytime, Enjolras.”

It takes hours for Enjolras to stop smiling.

**

“Hey.”

Enjolras looks up from the book he’s reading to find Grantaire sitting down across from him at his table in the break room. “Hey.” A smile curves on his lips.

“Look, I’m not actually on my break so I have to ask this quick,” Grantaire prefaces with a wry smile. “I found a copy of _Persepolis_ on DVD and I was wondering if you’d want to watch it with me?”

 It takes Enjolras a moment to breathe. “Yes,” he replies eagerly. “Yes, definitely. That sounds great.” It sounds like a _date_ and Enjolras couldn’t be more pleased with the prospect. He’d yet to find a good time to tell Grantaire about his feelings and if Grantaire was in fact asking him on a date, then he wouldn’t have to.

“Awesome,” Grantaire looks relieved. “Could we do it at your place? My TV’s broken and we could do it on my laptop but—“

“It’s fine,” Enjolras agrees, stopping Grantaire’s babbling. “When are you free?”

“Tomorrow night?” Grantaire suggests.

“Perfect,” Enjolras smiles, excitement coursing through his veins. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Great.” Grantaire stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you.”

Somehow Enjolras manages to make it through the rest of his shift and only starts worrying when he gets home. His apartment is lacking in snacks and it’s a little messy and he just wants everything _perfect_. He calls Courfeyrac three times asking him what he should do to make his possibly-a-date with Grantaire go smoothly and only refrains from calling a fourth time because of Courfeyrac’s threats at the end of the last phone call.

It’s half past seven the next day when there’s a knock on Enjolras’ door that must be Grantaire. His stomach is in knots and he smooths out his shirt, taking in a deep breath before he pulls open the door.

He’s greeted with the sight of Grantaire and Jehan.

“Uh, hi, come in,” he forces a smile.

They do.  

“I didn’t know you were coming, Jehan.”

Jehan gives him a surprised look. “I thought you said you told him, R?”

“I must have forgot,” Grantaire murmurs, looking away.

Jehan frowns, then turns to Enjolras with a soft expression. “I can go, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Enjolras lies. Half lies. He likes Jehan, he just wanted so badly for this to be a date. “Of course it’s fine—I was just surprised to see you.”

“Alright, as long as I’m not intruding.”

They start the movie once they’re settled—Enjolras and Grantaire on the couch and Jehan sprawled out on the floor in front of the television. Enjolras can almost forget Jehan’s there, especially when Grantaire starts whispering comments to him about what’s going on in the movie. _Almost_ , but not completely. The fact remains that Grantaire didn’t mean for this to be a date—that Grantaire didn’t want to date him at all.

**

The day after his not-date, Enjolras comes in to find the manager waiting to speak with him in his office. The speaking rapidly turns into yelling.

He isn’t sure how it starts, exactly, (he thinks it’s because he messed up a few tags and items were mispriced because of it) but the yelling about one thing soon spirals into an attack on every aspect of Enjolras. He was late two times and there was that one customer complaint and does he know that he should be working and not standing around _socializing_ so often?

Enjolras tries to protest but it only makes things worse and he eventually takes to shutting up and letting the manager yell. He needs this job.

When he leaves the office, it’s with the threat of being fired if he continues “slacking off.” Enjolras knows it’s unfair and something he _should_ fight against, but he _needs this job_. For once in his life, he doesn’t know what to do but give in. And it kills him.

 _Scan to the Dairy/Frozen department,_ sounds out over the PA system while he’s still sitting in the scan office, trying to breathe deeply enough to calm himself. Enjolras frowns. It’s Grantaire paging him. Paging him so they can stand around in the back room and talk about books or movies or whatever—which is not what Enjolras needs right now, when he’s threatened with losing his job. Especially not when he’s still upset and confused about Grantaire’s lack of interest in him. But if he doesn’t go Grantaire will just keep paging him.

His bad mood must be apparent, because as soon as Grantaire sees him he frowns. “What’s up?”

Enjolras shakes his head dismissively. “What do you need?”

“I, uh,” Grantaire leans against the milk display, looking suddenly nervous. “What’d you think of the movie last night?”

“I’ve got work to do,” Enjolras snaps. “If you don’t have any signs you need, then please don’t call me again.”

Grantaire’s eyes widen in surprise and he nearly knocks a milk jug off the shelf. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing,” he lies, angry.

“Come on,” Grantaire tries again. “There’s clearly something upsetting you.”

“Yes, _you_ ,” Enjolras growls. “All you do is call me over here for nothing—and maybe that’s okay with you, but I _care_ about my job.”

“And I don’t?” Grantaire crosses his arms.

“You don’t care about anything,” Enjolras accuses, icily. “Not about your job or politics or the world. All you do is fuck around and slack off because you’re not motivated to do any better.”

There’s a hurt look on Grantaire’s face, but Enjolras doesn’t even notice as he continues his tirade. “Maybe you’re okay with that, but I’m not. So stop dragging me down.”

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, only brushes past him and walks off into the dairy/frozen cooler.

Enjolras stares at the swinging doors, still flushed and hot with anger. He spins around and heads back to work, only just starting to think that maybe he’s gone too far.

**

Grantaire won’t talk to him. In fact, he practically disappears off the face of the earth. By the time Enjolras has cooled down enough to feel regret, he can’t find Grantaire anywhere. Suddenly their shifts never line up—or, if they do, Grantaire somehow slips in and out without Enjolras catching a glimpse.

Some of the others start acting a little frosty to him, too. Eponine goes so far as to yell at him for being an ass one day in the break room—and he can’t even attempt to defend himself. He was out of line, he knows it now, but he can’t take back what he said. And the worst part is, he still thinks some of it’s true—which only serves to make him feel like a truly awful person.

Two weeks go by before Enjolras sees Grantaire again; he only gets a slight wave.

Three days later, he sees him again and tries to talk but Grantaire dismisses him. “I’m not going to drag you down anymore,” he tells Enjolras simply, refusing to listen as Enjolras tries to piece together an apology.

To Enjolras, it feels like slowly dying. Every day aches more and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get Grantaire to forgive him—to just take him back as a _friend_. He needs help; that much he knows. So he does what he never thought he’d resort to: he calls his sister.

Cosette is cheerful when she receives his plea. “I’ll help,” she says, and Enjolras can _hear_ the smirk curving on her lips over the phone. “But first I have to meet this mystery man who’s stolen my dearest brother’s heart.”

“What?” Enjolras sputters. “No _way_.”

“I have to _see_ him at least,” Cosette insists. “Just point him out to me at the store; he’ll never even have to know.”

It feels like a bad idea, but what choice does he have? If anyone can help him win back Grantaire, it’s Cosette. Enjolras sighs heavily. “Fine.”

She squeals and Enjolras wonders just how much he’s going to regret this.

**

On Thursday, Enjolras picks up Cosette and takes her to the grocery store; he’s nervous by the time they’re in the front foyer. Cosette takes his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Before he can lead her back to dairy/frozen and pretend to look at milk or something, he sees Eponine staring at them and _oh_. He knows that look.

A real plan clicks into place.

“Cosette, stay here,” he insists, marching off to the customer service desk before she can protest.

“Do you know Cosette?” Enjolras asks without greeting.

Eponine scowls at him, but answers. “We have a class together. So what?”

“You like her.”

“ _What_?”

Enjolras smiles smugly. “You do, I can see it.”

“And you’re trying to scare me off from your girlfriend?”

Enjolras makes a face of disgust. “God no. She’s my sister.” He pauses. “Well, half-sister. We grew up in different families—it’s complicated.”

Eponine eyes him carefully. “So what are you doing?”

“I can help you,” Enjolras insists, determined. “I’ll talk you up—get you a date. Whatever.”

Instead of being pleased, Eponine narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you help me?”

Enjolras puts on his best frown. “I care about my sister’s happiness and think you—“

“Cut the bullshit.”

He can’t bother looking offended. “Fine. I want you to help me with Grantaire in exchange.”

Eponine laughs coldly.

“I know I was horrible,” Enjolras admits quietly, eyes downcast. “I know that. But… I have _feelings_ for him, Eponine. And I think I might have had a chance with him—and, no, that doesn’t even matter. I’ll ignore my feelings for the rest of my life if he’ll just be _friends_ with me again.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I hate this. Not talking to him. I _miss him_.”  

“You _think_ you might have had a chance with him?” she repeats, eyebrows raised, and Enjolras thinks she’s focused on the wrong thing here.

“Did I not?” he asks hesitantly. “It doesn’t matter—being friends is enough.” He can make it be enough.

Eponine stares at him. “Boys are idiots.” She sighs. “So, what—you want me to help you woo him?”

“Does he—do you think it will work?” Enjolras asks, hopeful. Eponine wouldn’t string him along, he doesn’t think.

“A few weeks ago? He would have sold his soul for a date with you,” Eponine reveals. “Now? I don’t know. It might be worth a shot.”

Enjolras closes his eyes and breathes, trying to center himself. Grantaire _did_ like him—and he’d ruined it completely.

He opens his eyes. “Will you help?”

“In exchange for three things,” Eponine decides. “One: you promise me that you’re completely genuine about this Grantaire thing.”

“I am,” Enjolras vows. “He’s—“

“Don’t want to hear it.” Eponine cuts in with a grimace. “Two: you invite me and your sister somewhere. Just us three and with you not being weird and trying to talk me up because I bet you’re shit at that.”

“How about lunch tomorrow?” he suggests eagerly.

Eponine smiles slightly. “And three: you babysit my brother tomorrow night.”

Enjolras blinks, hesitant. “Really?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Eponine grins wolfishly.

“Okay,” Enjolras sighs. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she says, still grinning. “I’ll text you the details later.”

 “Thanks.” He tells her, full of gratitude, before turning to go.

“And Enjolras?”

He spins around to look back.

“You better not fuck this up.”

Enjolras bites his lip and nods.

When he returns to Cosette, he’s surprised to find her standing in front of the pie display right where he left her.

“Is that Eponine you were talking to?” she asks, suspiciously.

“Yeah, you know her?”

Cosette narrows her eyes, looking at him with interest. He tries his best to keep a neutral expression, knowing he’s a terrible actor. “She’s in my psych class.”

Enjolras hums. “Well, she seems nice?”

“I guess?” Cosette looks confused now. “What were you talking about?”

“She’s close to Grantaire; she’s going to help me too,” Enjolras admits, figuring it’s better. Not only is he an awful actor, but it will make for a good reason to have lunch with Eponine.

Cosette smiles, sweet and soft. “See? You clearly have a chance. She wouldn’t help you if she didn’t think you could do it.”

Enjolras gives a slight nod, hoping she’s right.

“Okay, let’s get on it; Operation Enjolras Wants the D is a go.”

Enjolras groans, smiling in spite of himself. “ _Cosette_.”

“D stands for Dairy-Guy,” Cosette insists with an innocent look, leading him by the hand back towards the dairy section.  

Enjolras stops in his tracks as soon as they reach the dairy section and he sees Grantaire stacking yogurts. “This is a bad idea, what are we doing?” he hisses.

Cosette has the nerve to giggle. “That’s him, then?” she grins. “Cute. Now come on, I need some yogurt.”

 _“Cosette!_ ” he whispers, but she ignores him.

Enjolras ducks around the corner, peeking out to watch as Cosette walks straight up to Grantaire and starts talking to him. He can’t hear them from where he is, but he can see the both of them smiling and laughing and he has to wonder what’s so damn amusing about yogurt.

It seems like an eternity before Cosette returns with two small containers. “I like him,” she decides, leading the way to the front of the store. “He’s good for you.”

Enjolras tries not to blush and fails. “What’s the plan, then?”

“I think we should meet with Eponine first and work it out,” Cosette tells him as they check out. “She knows Grantaire and I know you—together this will be _easy_.”

**

They meet for lunch the next day at a cheap burger place near Eponine’s apartment and almost immediately, Enjolras feels like a third wheel. The two girls talk almost exclusively to each other—sometimes in whispers and sometimes with glances at him interspersed. The only thing that holds him back from commenting is the thought that at least Eponine might get what she wants out of this (and her and Cosette would make a nice couple, albeit a terrifying one).

“We’ve decided,” Cosette announces halfway through lunch.

Enjolras looks up from his burger. “On what?”

“Your three step plan,” Eponine grins.

Cosette nods. “Step one: this afternoon when you’re babysitting Gavroche, you’re going to call Grantaire over to help you.”

“Why would I do that?” Enjolras asks, brows furrowed. “Why would he _come_?”

“Because Gavroche is going to be too much for you to handle,” Eponine explains. “And don’t worry—you won’t be lying about that.”

“And Grantaire will come because he cares about you and Gavroche both,” Cosette finishes.

Enjolras feels skeptical about all of that, and he especially doesn’t like the sound of this babysitting job, but he puts his worries aside momentarily. “Step two?”

“You bond over babysitting. Not only are you going to apologize and grovel and do whatever you have to, but you will let him know flat out that you miss him and want to be friends again,” Cosette informs.

Eponine nods seriously.

“Okay,” Enjolras agrees. He’s still wondering how well this will _actually_ go. “And what’s the last step?”

“Tell him you want to be with him,” Cosette says. “Oh and kiss him. We think that will work best.”

“You really think I should kiss him tonight?”

“Yes,” Eponine insists, giving him a hard look. “The last time you screwed up because you didn’t just _do it_.”

“What? I didn’t—“

“Cosette told me everything.”

He glares halfheartedly at Cosette. “Traitor.”

Cosette laughs unabashedly at him. “Finish eating, will you? We have a lot of work to do before you babysit—you have to look your best, after all.”

Enjolras manages to refrain from groaning—but only just. He’s still not sure how well any of this will go.

The girls drag him home and immediately commandeer his closet, pulling out an assortment of clothes to make outfits with. They make him try on twelve different outfits without giving him a say before they finally settle on letting him wear his tightest pair of skinny jeans and a gray sweater that Cosette says makes his eyes pop. Cosette puts product in his hair, too, until it’s curled nice and laying properly, rather than being the frizzed mess he’d thrown up in a ponytail this morning.

Once they deem him ready (even though he’s feeling anything but), they go to pick up Gavroche from his playdate—and then the girls leave him alone with a seven year old boy and a vague three step plan to get a boyfriend.

**

Enjolras lasts a solid hour and a half before he actually really needs help. He panics at first, afraid Grantaire won’t answer or will laugh at him or hang up, so he calls Eponine. Or tries. She doesn’t pick up.

When he tries Cosette, she’s not answering either. He leaves her an angry voicemail (“I can still tell your father where you actually were that time you told him you were spending the night at my place— _don’t think I won’t_.”) and collapses on the couch.

Gavroche is currently gathering things in his backpack and keeps telling Enjolras he’s “going out.” Enjolras doesn’t know what that means, but he’s fairly certain Gavroche put a _kitchen knife_ in his bag and Eponine’s going to kill him if he lets this kid out of the house no matter what.

He takes a deep breath and calls Grantaire from the house phone.

Grantaire picks up right away. “Hey, Ep. What’s up?”

“Um, Grantaire, hi.” He winces.

“Enjolras? What are you doing at Eponine’s?”

He swallows heavily, trying to ignore the coldness in Grantaire’s voice. “I—she has me babysitting and I suck at it. I mean, I _knew_ I would and I tried to tell her, but. He’s literally about to leave, Grantaire. Help me. _Please_.”

“Did you try calling Eponine?”

“She isn’t picking up.”

Enjolras hears Grantaire sigh heavily over the line and then there’s silence. “I’m coming over.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a click as Grantaire hangs up and Enjolras groans, face in hands.

It only takes ten minutes before Grantaire shows up—and Enjolras thanks god that he really does. Part of him had worried he wouldn’t.

“I’m so glad you came,” he sighs in relief as he ushers Grantaire in. “I don’t know how to stop him from leaving.”

“By telling him no?” Grantaire offers.

“Oh wow, didn’t think of that one!” Enjolras replies, voice heavy with sarcasm. He winces immediately after. “Sorry I didn’t—“

Grantaire looks like he’s trying not to smile, though. “It’s fine. Where’s the kid anyway?”

“Kitchen.”

Enjolras stays by the couch and lets Grantaire handle the situation, preferring to watch as he negotiates with Gavroche. In a matter of minutes, Grantaire has the boy convinced to go play his xbox instead of sneaking out and Enjolras is amazed.

“How on earth did you do that?” he whispers, watching as Gavroche starts up a game.

“The magic of bribery,” Grantaire grins wryly. “You’re ordering in a pizza with extra pepperoni and he gets as much soda as he wants.”

Enjolras nods eagerly. “Whatever it takes.”

“You should be good now,” Grantaire is inching towards the door and Enjolras’ heart drops. “So I guess I’ll be going.”

“No!” Enjolras pleads frantically. “I can’t—I need you here.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You can handle it.”

“I really can’t,” Enjolras tells him, honestly. “But it’s more than that—I… I’m sorry. I was terrible and I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“Enjolras—“

“No,” he interrupts. “Please, just let me say it.”

Grantaire goes silent and nods.

“I was wrong. I only said what I did because I was angry—they were threatening to fire me. But that’s no excuse; I should never have taken my anger out on you. And I’m really truly sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire tells him shortly.

“No, it’s not,” Enjolras insists. “It’s really not. I miss you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire looks genuinely surprised. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” he answers fiercely.

“Oh.” Grantaire has a small smile on his face that Enjolras can’t help but mimic.

“Will you stay?” he pleads again.

There’s still a moment of hesitance, but this time Grantaire nods. “For a little while.”

Enjolras beams.

“But only if you call in the pizza now,” Grantaire adds with a grin.

He’s teasing, but Enjolras answers seriously. “Anything.”

**

They spend the next few hours eating pizza and watching Gavroche play some first person shooter. They talk too—about books they’ve read, how Grantaire’s fencing class is going, whether or not Enjolras should submit a paper to a conference. It’s not perfect; Enjolras can still see glimmers of uncertainty in Grantaire’s eyes. It’s better, though—so much better.

When they finish eating, Grantaire brings the plates back to the kitchen and Enjolras follows.

“You know,” Enjolras starts tentatively. “Eponine mentioned you’ve been making graphic novels.”

Grantaire groans. “I wish she wouldn’t have.”

Enjolras hums as he moves closer, leaning against the counter beside Grantaire. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell me—I’d love to see them.”

“They suck,” Grantaire protests.

“I doubt it,” Enjolras scoffs. “You’re so ridiculously talented—don’t argue, you _are_. You have a way with storytelling and I’ve seen your doodles before. I’m sure they’re amazing, Grantaire.”

Grantaire is smiling bashfully and rubbing at the back of his neck. “You overestimate me.”

“No, I really don’t,” Enjolras murmurs. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

Enjolras gravitates a little closer and he sees Grantaire do the same. His heartbeat picks up. “I really like you. A lot,” he admits, sheepish.

Grantaire only stares in awe, tongue darting over his lips.

Enjolras takes in a breath and moves in to press their lips together.

“I have a date tonight,” Grantaire lets out in a rush before Enjolras can kiss him.

He pulls back like he’s been slapped. “What?”

“A date,” Grantaire repeats, looking guilty. “I have one. I should actually—I should go.”

He does, and Enjolras watches, feeling like his heart’s shattering in front of him.

**

Enjolras doesn’t tell Eponine what happened when she returns. He only shakes his head when she asks and bolts out the door.

Honestly, he wants to curl up in bed and never get up. He doesn’t know how he’s going to go to work tomorrow and pretend it’s okay—how he’s going to be able to look at Grantaire without feeling jealous and embarrassed and regretful.

He does, though. He gets up, ignores several calls from Cosette, Eponine, Courfeyrac, and even Combeferre, drinks enough coffee to feel sick, and then goes to work.

At first it seems like he’s going to get to avoid Grantaire completely; half of his shift goes by without a glimpse of him. Then he’s called over to the dairy/frozen department to make tags.

Enjolras goes, dread in his heart.

Grantaire’s standing awkwardly in front of the doors to the cooler, looking about as nervous as Enjolras feels. “Enj—“

“Wha—“

They stop simultaneously and Grantaire lets out an anxious laugh.

“You first,” he urges.

“I was just asking what you wanted,” Enjolras says, focusing incredibly hard on looking straight at Grantaire instead of his shoes.

“Oh, um,” Grantaire pauses. “Can you come back here?” He reaches for Enjolras’ hand hesitantly. When Enjolras gives a slight nod, Grantaire laces their fingers and leads him into the cooler.

They move back behind the stacks of milk crates, into a hidden corner. Enjolras exhales, his breath puffing out like smoke between them. “What is it?” His stomach twists and he’s confused—part of him wonders if Grantaire’s trying to tell him they can’t be friends anymore.

“I—“ he breaks off. “I’m awful with words,” he admits, and Enjolras wants to laugh because he’s heard Grantaire ramble for _ages_ before. “Can I just show you?”

He looks uncertain, and Enjolras is confused but he nods anyway.

Grantaire leans in and kisses him.

Enjolras is too thrown off to do anything but stand there, eyes still open, at first—and it ends before his wits come back to him.

“I’m sorry—“ Grantaire starts, but Enjolras cuts him off.

“What about your date?”

Grantaire gives a huff of a laugh. “I couldn’t think of anything but you the whole night,” he confesses. “It didn’t go well.”

Enjolras laughs—he can’t help it—and then his arms are around Grantaire and he’s pushing their mouths back together.

Grantaire lets out a surprised noise against his lips, but melts into it. His hands move to Enjolras’ hips and tug him a little closer as he deepens the kiss.

“Wait,” Enjolras pulls back, a little breathless. And then he starts giggling, a little uncontrollably. “We’re making out in the dairy cooler.”

“No,” Grantaire grins. “I’m _trying_ to make out with you and you’re stopping me.” He starts pressing kisses down Enjolras’ jaw. “Which is pretty cruel, if you ask me.”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras half-moans as he moves to kiss Enjolras’ neck. “I have to work—you do too!”

Grantaire pouts against his skin, but pulls away. “How am I supposed to work if all I can think of is kissing you?”

“Later,” Enjolras assures. His lips still tingle and he can hardly feel the biting cold. “Do you want to get dinner with me?”

“Of course,” Grantaire smiles softly. “I want to do this properly.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Grantaire mimics.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning—he can’t stop. “See you later, then?” He knows he has to go, but he can’t make himself move.

“Yeah,” Grantaire leans in. “Later.”

Enjolras lets Grantaire kiss him again, just softly, before he pulls away and disentangles himself completely. “ _Later_ ,” he repeats, then presses a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. Just because he can now.

“See you later!” Grantaire calls teasingly as Enjolras walks away.

It takes a lot of effort to not turn around and kiss him again, but Enjolras manages it, knowing that they will have _later_.

And later’s worth it.

**

“I wanted to ask you out the very first time I saw you.”

“Really?” Enjolras asks skeptically, not bothering to move his head from its place on Grantaire’s chest.

They’re lounging naked in Grantaire’s bed, sprawled over each other with intertwined limbs. Grantaire’s fingers trace circular patterns over his back, making him shudder every so often.

“Mhmm,” Grantaire hums. “I was only a dick to you because I was nervous. I mean, you’ve looked in a mirror before, right?”

Enjolras scoffs.

“Seriously, you’re gorgeous and _scary_ to boot.”

“I look awful in my work uniform,” Enjolras complains. “The hat especially.”

“You look cute,” Grantaire insists, fingers trailing lightly up his side until Enjolras is squirming and has to flick Grantaire to get him to stop.

“You want to know a secret?” Grantaire continues.

“What?”

“Remember how our shifts lined up so well?” he asks. “Well, that was because I bribed Chetta to schedule you so our breaks would overlap.”

“ _What_?” Enjolras lifts his head to look at Grantaire, amused.

“I was bringing the garbage back for her for _months_ ,” Grantaire adds with a soft laugh. “Kind-of stalkerish, right?”

Enjolras leans up to kiss Grantaire softly. “Kind-of flattering.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Enjolras lays his head back down on Grantaire’s chest, warm and content. “I love you,” he breathes. They haven’t been together long—two months, only two glorious months—but he’s not worried to say it.

Grantaire stiffens under him momentarily, then relaxes. “I love you too.”

“Good,” Enjolras hums, so happy he swears he must be glowing with it. He flips over so he’s on his knees, hovering over Grantaire. “Ready for round two?” His tongue darts over his lips slowly, in the way he knows attracts Grantaire’s attention.

“God, I love you so much,” Grantaire laughs breathily, a crooked grin on his face, before his hand tangles in Enjolras’ hair and pulls him in for a kiss.


End file.
